I realized that I left a tape recorder running for the better part of the last 14 years here underneath the headboard. Playing back the first 10 minutes or so, all I hear is whispering, whispering, whispering.

It’s not my voice. And it’s nothing terribly interesting. Just a lot of talk about value meal specials at fast food establishments and national holiday-themed mattress sales.

I can only assume it’s what I discuss while asleep. And I regret not finding it until now as, from what I can tell, I missed out on a really great Fish-Sandwich/Craftmatic Adjustable Bed combo deal back in 2002 that would’ve both made me smarter and straightened out my back.

I’ll have Franklin burn the tape later tonight.


About Chris Weagel

Chris Weagel writes about the intersection of technology and parenting for Wired Magazine. No he doesn’t. He can’t stand that shit.

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